A Day in Nicodranas

The group spent the rest of the day in Nicodranas.

Moros stepped back from the table, allowing room for Adira to stand. “We need to find a store,” he told the group.

“I know just the place,” Ratatouille announced. “Nicodranas is home, come with me.” The halfling leapt to his feet and lead the group out of the Dawn Treader and into the morning light.

He brought them through a warren of streets and alleys before coming to a stop in front of a run-down looking shop called Meandering Treasures.

Inside, it was like a pawn shop: antiques, gold items, magical items, weapons, potions, and more adorned the shelves. The shopkeep addressed Ratatouille with a grin that spoke of familiarity.

“What have you got for me, today, Rat?” he asked, leaning back against the counter.

“Nothing today,” came the response, “just brought these folks in for a bit of shopping.”

Moros approached the counter, eyeing a Hammer of Moradin amulet. “How much is this?”

“Thirty gold pieces,” the shopkeep replied, eyeing Moros hungrily.

“I’ll give you twenty,” came Moros’ response, not taking his gaze from the piece in front of him.

A hesitation. The shopkeep’s eyes travelled over the man in front of him. “Alright,” he agreed, finally.

Qwillin was also eyeing up an amulet. “How much is the Avandra piece?” he asked, once Moros’ deal was complete.

“Thirty gold pieces,” came the same gruff reply.

“Would I also be able to get it for twenty?” Qwillin asked, politely, his look earnest.

The shopkeep didn’t even hesitate before shaking his head. “No. Thirty gold.”

Qwillin shot him a dirty look and shook his blue head. “I’ll meet you guys outside,” he told the others and left. Everyone else followed him, but Maal hung back.

They approached the shopkeep with a smile. “I’m interested in the Avandra piece,” Maal said, indicating the amulet Qwillin was just eyeing up. “I’d like to give you twenty gold for it if you’ll deal with me.”

It must have been the way Qwillin looked or the tone of his voice when he asked, because the shopkeep almost wilted under Maal’s request. “Of course,” he said. “I’d be happy to sell this to you for twenty gold.”

The deal done, Maal pocketed the amulet and left Meandering Treasures to join the rest of the group outside.

“What was that about?” Bastien asked quietly, but Maal just shook their head, distracted by Moros pulling the Hammer of Moradin out of his pocket. It looked comical in his massive hand, the size of a peanut.

Maal stared in disbelief as he curled his hand around the gold piece and crushed it, bending the metal in on itself. Moros’ face was thick with disgust as he threw the ruined amulet into the sewer beside him.

No one said anything, the silence dragged on before Moros broke it himself. “We have business to attend to in the forest,” he told them. “We’ll meet you in the Central Market.”

Qwillin looked from Moros and Adira to Maal, Bastien, and Ratatouille before deciding to head with the larger man and the elf. “I’ll see you guys there,” he called down the street.

Bastien turned to Ratatouille and asked if he knew where he could fill up his potion supply. The halfling smiled. “‘Course I do,” he said, “Come with me.”

Their path took them through another maze of streets and alleys and along the front of the Restless Wharf. There were more ships in the harbour than when they’d gone into the Dawn Treader. “The Revelry,” Maal said, pointing out the pirate ships at anchor in the water.

Ratatouille told them the ships had been coming and going with more intensity for weeks. He guided them back through the warrens towards the Central Market when Bastien pulled up short outside a shop, the sound of buzzing drifting into the street. The sign out the front declared it was Orley’s Tattoo Parlour.

“Come on,” he said, dragging Maal inside. Ratatouille tagged along behind them.

A tortle, donning an eyepatch and what looked like three white bagpipes sticking out of his shell, greeted them gruffly. He was busy tattooing a customer but told the three they were free to look around.

Maal caught the look on Bastien’s face; one mixed with awe, admiration, and jealousy. “One day, we’ll get tattoos here,” Maal assured their friend.

They spent a few more minutes watching Orley work before their attention was drawn back to the quest for potions. At the alchemist, Bastien bought two healing potions and one potion of water breathing. He gave Maal a meaningful look with the purchase. Maal also bought two healing potions and a potion of diminution, returning Bastien’s glance.

“Let’s eat!” Ratatouille complained, breaking between their eye contact. “I’m starving and the others will be back soon, I guess.” The halfling led the way from the shop and into the middle of the Central Market. The intoxicating smell of food surrounded them.

“Fish tacos?” Maal beelined to the taco cart to get their favourite delicacy. Bastien and Ratatouille trailed after them. Maal was on their third taco when the other half of their party showed up, their own lunch in their hands.

Once everyone had eaten, Maal invited them to the College of Glamour.

“That’s where you went to college?” Moros asked, but Maal shook their head.

“I’ve always wanted to see it in person,” they explained. “It’s supposed to be extraordinary.”

The trip north through Nicodranas took about two hours at their leisurely pace, easy conversation passed the time.

They turned a corner and the College rose above them. Thick, marble columns soared above them, looking out of place, otherworldly, and oddly intimidating in the portside city.

Maal gasped and stared in awe, taking in the beautiful building and the lush gardens surrounding it. Green leaves spilt from the top of the columns, vines draped between the archways. Palm trees lined the meandering paths and small shrubs sprouted.

Maal looked through one archway and saw a courtyard, sepia earth laid bare around lush grass. Benches and potted flowers finished the space. Two bards stood in the middle, taking turns reaching the highest octaves of their voices.

The College doors were heavy, but a twinkle of bells trilled as Maal pulled them open. A din of competing music rose as the group walked over the threshold.

Almost everyone in the College was a performer. Everywhere they looked, someone was taking their turn to tell an epic tale, sing a ballad, or exchange witty remarks. As they watched each performance come to an end, the groups of onlookers seemed to come out of a trance, sometimes shaking their heads a little bit or blinking their eyes as if coming to their senses. Then the bards took notes, offered criticism, asked advice, and the next performer would take a turn.

Occasionally, Maal saw a Master of the College approach and observe a performance, then offer their critique. These Masters carried a presence Maal could feel and absently wondered whether the others were as captivated by them as they were. It was something about their grace of movement, their beauty of features, the tenor of their voices… It elicited strong feelings from all around them.

The six of them stood captivated, taking everything in with awe. Before long, a graceful man approached the group, his long hair flowing behind him. Maal saw their five companions stop and turn to him, staring; even Moros seemed to get a glazed over look in his eyes as he took in The Passenger.

Maal had to admit that he was a beautiful man; his presence was commanding and alluring. Though they knew the charm spells of bards well, this was a whole other level than they’d experienced before.

“Hello again,” The Passenger greeted them, his dazzling smile reaching his eyes. “I’m so glad you could make it.” His eyes, again, found each of the group’s own, lingering longer on Maal’s.

Maal returned his smile. “Thank you for inviting us. I have to admit I’ve been eager to explore the College for some time, it was part of the reason Bastien and I chose to come to Nicodranas.” The white lie slid easily off their tongue.

“I’m delighted!” The Passenger exclaimed and seemed to genuinely mean it. But then his tone turned serious and the group seemed to collectively come back to the present moment, as though a fog had lifted. “I was hoping you would take me up on my offer to come here. I wanted a word where we wouldn’t be overheard.

“This job you’ve been hired for is more than just escorting Lord Brendley back to the mainland,” he said, conspiratorially. “He travels out to his private island a few times a year with his latest dalliance; a young woman whom he wines, dines, and pampers the entire time he’s there. I’m afraid to tell you,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “that the young lady does not return on this voyage with him.”

Maal looked at The Passenger sharply, an audible intake of their breath.

“What happens to her?” Bastien asked. He was shocked, his eyebrows raised and his voice laden with concern.

The Passenger shrugged. “I cannot say I know for certain… I believe she goes for a very long swim.” His eyebrow raised to ensure the group understood his point. “Perhaps you might be able to save a life.”

A grunt; Moros lifted his massive girth. “Suppose we could do that,” he acquiesced.

“Excellent!” The Passenger clapped his hands, a sparkle of light releasing around them, and settled back into his intoxicating demeanour. “I do hope you’ll look around, see what the College of Glamour offers. Do check behind the doors and find a performance to your liking.”

As the group started to disperse, Maal hung back. They caught The Passenger’s eye with a grin. “You’re going to have to show me that enchantment.” A twinkle of merriment flashed in their eyes.

“Ah, yes,” The Passenger admitted, though no shame held his voice. “That is a neat little trick. I will teach you, but not now. Now, you go. Go.” He dismissed Maal with a lazy wave of his hand. “Enjoy the College.”

Maal nodded their thanks and hurried to catch up with Bastien.

Every room they passed had elements dedicated to performance. Courtyards showcased either raised platforms or raised seating; alcoves had mirrors for practising movements or facial expressions; even hallways were subtly shaped to maximise the acoustics. Each room they entered had heavy doors to keep sound from travelling and some seemed to have built-in features for controlling the lighting effects.

They stopped in one room where a storyteller stood at the bottom of an amphitheatre. Around him, the atmosphere was dark, his face lit by candlelight, while other hidden lights flickered to mimic a howling wind. The slow beat of a drum accompanied the performance.

His tempo increased, his words swelled to fill the room, a story of ghosts and horror. Feelings of panic and despair seemed to descend into the crowd, but Maal stood, utterly transfixed by the performer below them. The command they held, the captivation, emotion, depth, and presence demanded your eyes.

At Maal’s side, unnoticed, Bastien paled and his breathing grew shallow. Sweat began trickling down his face and he seemed trapped against the back wall.

Then a cacophony of sound. Booms, crashes, and pounds erupted around them. Bastien clutched Maal’s hand, breaking their spell. One look at their friend and they helped them out of the suffocating room, leaving the others to the performance.

They didn’t speak, just waited beside Bastien until his breathing evened and some colour returned to his cheeks. A few sips from his flask helped to steady him. By then, the other four joined, oblivious to the fact Maal and Bastien had left before the end of the performance.

“It’s getting late,” Maal said. “We should return to the Dawn Treader.” Though their voice was casual, their eyes kept flicking towards Bastien, taking note of his state.

Together, the party left the College of Glamour and made their way back to the Restless Wharf. The others were eager to chat about what they’d seen, but Maal and Bastien didn’t immediately join in.

“Are you okay?” Maal asked Bastien, their voice low and concerned.

Bastien nodded, keeping his eyes ahead. “Too familiar,” he said. “Took me back… I was there; I saw it all happening again.”

Maal reached their hand out and squeezed Bastien’s arm. His shipwreck; Bastien was the sole survivor. They couldn’t imagine what he was going through. “You are here. In Nicodranas. You’re Bastien, my best friend. I’m here.” They whispered assurances until they saw Bastien nod again.

The two joined in the conversation the rest of the way to the Dawn Treader, where they all found seats around a table for dinner and drinks.

“So, we will meet this ship at dawn.” It was a statement, not a question from Moros. His large head swivelled around to take in the agreements from the rest of the group. “Good.”

“I’m off to bed,” Qwillin announced, the first to leave.

Maal scooted down to his end of the table. “Qwillin, wait.” Qwillin paused a moment before returning to the table. “Do you feel the Change?” They asked after the sea elf took his seat again.

He nodded slowly. “I do,” Qwillin said, with hope and comfort lighting up his face.

“Anyone who feels called to The Changebringer should have her trinket,” Maal said, pulling the Avandra amulet they bought earlier that day out of their pocket. After handing it to Qwillin, they pulled their own gold pendant to Avandra from beneath their tunic.

Qwillin held the pendant in his hands and lifted his eyes to meet Maal’s. “Thank you,” he said, graciously. “I have worshipped her my whole life. This means… a lot.”

Maal smiled. “I’m glad.”

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This is the second part of the first session of the Dungeons and Dragons campaign: Conspiracy Coast. Written with lots of input from Jeff the DM for the College of Glamour inspiration.